


Bicep-tuals

by MSpataro210



Series: Season 11 Inspired [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Compassionate Dean, Confessions, Cute, Dean and Donna sharing sweets, M/M, Teens in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 12:26:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5248235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MSpataro210/pseuds/MSpataro210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Howdy there folks!  I hope you enjoy this one!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Bicep-tuals

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy there folks! I hope you enjoy this one!

Bicep-tuals

            The steam rises from the freshly baked dough, carrying promises of deliciousness and sweetness in each curl of hot air.  The slowly rotating fans in the bakery push the smell of their product onto the mouth-watering customers, who cannot help but crush the money in their hands each second they are kept apart from their hopes and dreams.

            Sheriff Hanscum stares at the nimble fingers of the cashier as she plucks each heavenly tart from the tray and places it behind the glass case.  How each dessert plops itself onto the wax paper, crust golden, begging her to just bite into it-

            “Donna!”

            “It’s sugar free!”

            She turns, wide eyes locked with Dean’s concerned gaze.

            “Are you okay?” he asks her, hand rested on her shoulder in friendly worry.

            Donna shrugs him off. “I’m fine,” she tells him, “just got caught by the trap known as Melanie’s Bakery.”

            Dean shoots her a look: “How often does that happen?”

            “They named a menu item after me.”

            Donna looks away, cheeks flushed as red as the cherry filling bursting out of the cupcakes on the far right.

            “Hey,” Dean says, grabbing her attention.  She turns. “Then I guess I’ll have to try it then,” he smiles, “must be good.”

            Donna returns his smile as they step up to the counter to order their food.  Donna sticks with a cake pop while Dean gets the “Delightful Donna”, which is a larger than normal sugar cookie smothered in whip cream and topped with a strawberry.  His eyes widen in shock before turning back to his friend.

            “Yeah for awhile there I was broke,” she tells him, grabbing her treat and paying the appropriate amount of money.

            Dean follows her to the back, away from everyone else so they can have their conversation in private.

            “So,” she says, sitting, “what is it you wanted to talk to me about?  Any more leads on the coach?”

            “Well, Sam’s working on that… but actually we’re here to talk about something else,” Dean confesses.

            Donna quirks a brow, taking a bite of her pop: “Why do I get the feeling you only picked this place to placate me?”

            Dean smirks back. “I didn’t pick to eat here,” he says, “I asked for a good place to eat and you drove us here.”

            “Damn my weakness to sugary goodness,” Donna smacks a small fist to the table.

            “I know what you mean,” Dean smiles, raising his treat in the air before taking a huge bite of it…

            Only for his body to shudder in a sugar overload.

            “Did I forget to mention that the finishing touch is a sprinkle of one or five tablespoons of sugar?”

            Dean coughs, a little air of white powder escaping his whipped cream lips.

            “Anyway,” Donna continues, “what did you want to talk about?”

            “Well,” Dean starts, “I’ve been talking with Doug-“

            “Oh, Christmas Crackers!” Donna interrupts, throwing her head back in annoyance.

            “Donna-“

            “Why can’t you leave well enough alone?” she continues, “I told you, I’m fine!  I’m… focusing on me right now!”

            Dean gives her a look that lets her know he isn’t buying the Girl Scout cookies she’s trying to sell.

            “Donna, look,” Dean reaches to grab her hand, “he’s just concerned.  He’s confused about the case, and he cares enough about you to notice when you’re acting strange.  Plus… he’s kind of hurt by how you’re treating him.”

            Donna looks like she has something to say, but quickly deflates and hangs her head. Dean runs a thumb across her knuckles in friendly assuarance.

            “It’s just…” she starts, “It’s the stress.  No, I’m lying… I’m scared. And not just of the-the ‘whatever it is’.  Of what might be between Doug and I.”

            “I didn’t think you could get scared,” Dean smirks, trying to lighten the mood, “what’s the problem: not sure he can keep up with your rough and tumble lifestyle, ya big brute?”

            Donna isn’t amused. “Ha ha,” she deadpans, “but if you _must_ know… it’s because…” She swallows hard.

            Dean notices her discomfort and acts fast: “If you don’t want to-“

            “No, no… you deserve to know,” she pulls her hand away, wringing it with the other, “it’s just every time I think of initiating something with him I picture… _the other Doug._ ”

            He only met him once, but the face flashes into Dean’s mind, and he understands.

            “And then I remember how awful that happened, how he crushed my heart and… and I don’t want to do that again,” Donna finishes, “I just fixed it… I don’t want all my hard work being wasted.”

            “Donna,” Dean whispers, “I know what you mean.”

            Donna looks up, the surprising tears that started to pool in her eyes frozen by the shock that is replacing the sadness.  Now it’s Dean who’s not looking her in the eyes.

            “A heart is a fragile thing to have,” he says, “and giving it to someone is the ultimate sign of trust. I did it a couple of times in my past, and each time hurt worse than the last.  But you can’t give up.  Because one day you’re going to find someone who will not only take your heart, but give you theirs in return.  And if you do anything to even bruise it… you’d do anything to make it up for them. And that’s the one.” He’s smiling now, eyes glazed over as if picturing a face Donna can’t see.

            “Dean?” she questions, breaking him from the spell, “Is there something… or someone you aren’t telling me about?”

            Dean blushes, looking down at his cookie as he plays with what’s left.  “I don’t” he stumbles, “Don’t kn-know what you’re talking about. Weren’t we talk-talking about _your_ love life?”

            Donna smiles, finishing off her cake pop before rolling the stick up in the napkin.

            “It’s okay, Dean,” she stands, “Now _I_ understand. Come on, we should head back.”

            “Yeah, we should,” Dean follows, and the two exit the shop.

* * *

 

            Dean sits in the car, hands on Baby’s wheel as he replays the conversation in his mind. He almost spilled his best-kept secret to sweet Donna, and even though he knows she won’t go blabbing her mouth, he’s still scared. 

            He never meant to spill so much about himself, but she needed the support.  But once he started it was like trying to contain an oil well that was bursting forth.

            Near the end there he could even see his face, staring back at him.  A small smile curling up his rough lips, eyes shining with warmth he only sees when he’s looking at him.

            But tail-spinning back into reality, he remembered a crucial fact: he’s not his.

            Because he’s a coward with self-deprecating tendencies that can’t see what anyone might like about him-but, he’s working on it.

            It’s slow going.

            Thankfully, Donna wanted to get another statement from the quarterback Brock, so Dean volunteered while Sam went to go check up on the Coach.

            Brock wasn’t at his house, but his mother _did_ say he’d be at the field.  And Dean can see him from the car.

            He gets out of the Impala, and starts to trek his way towards where Brock and another kid are running with a football between them.

            Dean gets close enough just when Brock tackles the other kid to the ground, the football flying towards the ground and the two teens spinning in the astro-turf. Dean stops, however, when he sees the two stop.

            Brock straddles the other boy and, from what Dean could see, has the other’s arms pinned above his head and is leaning ever so close…

            “Hey!”

            Two heads perk up, and like lightning the boys are on their feet facing Dean as he crosses the rest of the distance between them.

            Brock looks the same, maybe a tad pinker, but it’s the other boy that makes Dean pause.

            Windswept hair.

            A little stubble.

            Big, blue eyes.

            _Crap_.

            “-any reason you’re here?”

            Dean blinks, turning back to Brock, whose left eyebrow was practically flying off his forehead.

            “Sorry,” Dean apologizes, “I just uh, need to ask a few more questions.”

            The two teens stand there.

            “ _Alone_.”

            Brock turns to his friend, grabbing his shoulder.  “Cam,” he says, “give me a few.”

            _Cam_ turns back to face Dean and tilts his head a smidge, taking Dean in.

            ‘ _Where have I seen that before?_ ’

            “Okay,” Cam rumbles, giving one last look at Brock before leaving him with Dean and retreating towards the stands where two bags sit.

            Brock crosses his arms, “What is it you want?”

            “Just wanted to see if you knew anything about a Mr. Chester Johnson?  And possible connections to your coach?”

            “I think I remember him,” Brock thinks back, “weird guy with the costumes?  He seemed innocent enough… but the coach never seemed to be a fan. Granted, he didn’t seem to be a fan of many things that weren’t… _normal_.” He peeks a glance in Cam’s direction before turning back to look at Dean.  “Any more questions?”

            “No, I think you answered enough,” Dean smiles.  He turns to leave before stopping, looking back at Brock.

            “What?” Brock asks, not liking the look Dean’s giving him.

            “Sorry,” Dean says, “you just… remind me of me.”

            “A compliment I’m sure,” Brock rolls his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his words like glaze off a doughnut.

            “Somewhat,” Dean chuckles, looking away and toward Cam; Brock follows his gaze.  “Here’s a piece of advice,” Dean says, “tell him before it’s too late.”

            Brock swings back to look at Dean.

            “I don’t-w-what are you say-“

            Dean shoots him a look: “Take it from a man who knows what it’s like to pine for his best friend. It sucks.  Plus, it’s obvious he likes you back, otherwise he wouldn’t have been looking back here every five seconds with his hand on the call button for 911.”

            Brock looks back at Cam, who quickly turns around.  The only thing they can see is his flushed neck.

            “I’ll leave you to it,” Dean claps Brock’s back, knocking him off his feet.

            Dean heads back to Baby, opens the door, and stops.  He steals a glance over his shoulder to see Cam back over by Brock’s side. Dean can’t hear what they’re saying, but he knows it must be private by how close they’re standing. He sees Brock reach out, clasping Cam’s hand and shocking the other teen.

            Dean turns away when he sees the space between the two boys lessening.

            He revs the engine, hands on the wheels yet again.

            Five minutes pass and he still doesn’t move.

            Three minutes later he makes a decision.

            Thirty seconds later he’s got the cell phone pressed against his ear.

            “Cas?  Yeah, everything’s good over here… Why?  Just checking up… seeing how everything’s going… Anything new? …Ah, I see… so does that mean you’ll be coming home soon enough?  Because I really need to talk to you, Cas, that’s why. Yeah, it has to be in person-but don’t hang up.  I… I missed hearing your voice..."

**Author's Note:**

> Sweet, right? Leave kudos and comments!


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